Poetic justice.

 At the time of writing these are the comments on The Curmudgeon's latest post. I wrote the first one because I felt sorry for him having no comments. Hey, I'm a kind guy.

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Friday, January 3rd. 2025.

Peter was up pretty early. He checked Robert's blog, as he generally did. There was no new post quoting some religious nutter/writer with a weird name like K.Zeerdtk or R.Rrrrren. He decided not to bother with Richard's because 1) he didn't like hearing about his practice and 2) he wanted to make an early trip to the tip. This time of year there were always lots of idiots with trailers who didn't know how to back them. Sheesh, they were a nuisance! The Old Girl was in the her office and Peter knew not to disturb her. She'd just look up from her work and say, "Go, Matey, but don't forget to pick up that stuff for dinner. Hey, and no more Cleanskins. If Richard finds out you've been drinking those, it'll be all over his blog!" Peter left a note on the kitchen bench and headed outside. He was not wearing his silly furry hat. 

He couldn't believe what he saw!

There were workmen on the back plot of his property and they were ripping off foliage and flattening the dirt that was left behind. He hurried across. A guy who looked in charge walked casually across to meet him.

"Hi, I'm Ron. Are you the guy who lives on this property/"

"I'm the owner! Well, along with my partner. What the hell are you doing?"

"We're clearing this plot. It's no longer yours."

"You can't do that! What right have you got?"

"Well, me and that guy in the digger were reading the comments on The Curmudgeon's latest post. We decided that you're losing the plot."

"Oh. Okay."